


The Peace When It's Done

by WhoIsRah



Series: Weary Heads [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x20 whO?, F/M, Fix-It, Happy Ending, I just want them to be happy, M/M, Questioning Dean Winchester, Rescue, The Barn, The Empty, balthazar (briefly), chuck (mentioned) - Freeform, crowley (briefly) - Freeform, father of the year john winchester, gabriel (briefly) - Freeform, mentioned Homophobia, purely self-indulgent, road trip lol, the empty isnt evil, the empty likes Meg, the finale isnt canon idgaf, tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28205448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoIsRah/pseuds/WhoIsRah
Summary: “And,” Dean added, “we’re trying to not get involved in another apocalypse.” Jack grimaced at that, and Dean’s heart dropped to somewhere near his shoes, “What’s happening?”“Well, the Empty is, a little bit, leaking.” Jack’s eyes, now stained golden, were aimed at the floor.“The Empty is leaking?” Dean asked incredulously, and then, his voice raising an octave and a half, “The Empty is leaking!”Jack waved his hands, almost in a surrendering manner, “Only a little bit! It’s an easy fix.” And then, as an afterthought, “I think.”((Edit: TW/ f-slur used; reference to past homophobia))
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Series: Weary Heads [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143554
Comments: 4
Kudos: 116





	The Peace When It's Done

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be shorter but I got carried away lol. Hope you enjoy :)
> 
> I'm also not American, so sorry if I spell things differently

The Impala rumbled on the road, as smooth as she had ever been, Dean thought. Sam was in the passenger seat, fast asleep, with the same troubled expression that he had been wearing for days since they’d beaten Chuck. He was anxious to find Eileen, so the true weight of being free hadn’t yet sunk in. Dean almost looked to the back seat to share a smile with Cas, but a sharp stab of grief stopped him.

He still wondered if they were actually done with the whole Chuck thing, or if maybe he was just manipulating them further. Making them believe that he was really down for good this time. Jack seemed to believe that he was, and maybe that should’ve been enough of a good word for Dean to hang on to. The monsters they fought never seemed to stay gone, but this time Dean really, really hoped that it would be permanent. Perhaps, after all these years, they were truly, finally, free.

Dean drove on, Baby’s engine purring. The lustrous black hood reflecting the sunset. Red as passion. As blood.

**[One Week Later]**

One more morning arrived. To be fair, it had been morning for a while, but Dean had been waking up later and later, only to fight off his hangover in the bunker’s kitchen with a hair of the dog and roughly a pound of oily bacon.

Sam was up, somewhere in the bunker, trying to get into contact with Eileen or anyone who would know where she was. He’d never seen his brother like this. Never this desperate to get someone back. Of course, Sam had been desperate with Jess, but that was a pursuit for revenge. For justice. This was different.

The pots and pans that hung above their kitchen bench began to rattle. Dean barely had the energy to look up and register the problem. Something powerful was trying to get in, but the emergency lights and sirens hardly had the chance to kick in before the commotion stopped. Sam’s head popped around the doorframe, hair a mess. The bags under his eyes were dark and heavy, almost physically weighing him down.

“Dude, what the—” Sam started, before being cut off by a surprisingly polite knock at the door. Immediately Dean hoped it was Cas. A fruitless hope, and one that made him wish that he had another bottle of whiskey on hand. He also hoped, as he stood to meet Sam at the door, that what he was thinking wasn’t plastered all over his face.

They climbed the stairs together, Sam in the lead, guns raised. At the door, Sam turned back and, with his free hand, gestured; three, two, one. Dean poised his gun as Sam opened the door, but he lowered it just as quickly.

Jack stood awkwardly in the doorway with one hand raised in greeting. He wore that same strange smile, and those same white clothes that he did the last time they’d seen him. “Hello,” he said, simply, and let himself inside, walking down the steps and sitting at one of their tables. He traced his and Cas’ names with a finger, and the side of his mouth quirked up slightly.

“Hey, Jack,” Sam cleared his throat, and tucked his pistol into the waistband of his jeans. He followed Jack through the bunker, “we weren’t sure if we’d see you again.” Jack looked up from the carved names.

Just as he was about to speak, Dean cut in, “Yeah, how’s bein’ God treating you?” At that, Jack frowned. He reminded Dean so much of Cas, it wasn’t fair. He switched his gun to safety, and placed it down on the table.

Jack addressed Sam first, “I would have always come back to you guys,” he looked back down at the names, and his smile returned just a bit, “we’re family, right?” His tone was cautious, unsure, and while he was speaking to Sam, Dean replied.

“Yeah, kid, you are.” It wasn’t much, but the way Jack beamed at him made him think that it was enough of a start.

“And being God is,” Jack paused, considering the right way to put it, “challenging. There is a lot more that I have to look after than I thought there would be.” He looked between Sam and Dean, realising that they were waiting on him to explain why he was there. “Oh, right. Have you been out since I saw you last?”

Sam answered, “No, we’ve been mostly checking in on the people you brought back. Thanks, by the way,” Sam laughed softly, shielding himself. He carded his hand through his hair, pulling it away from his eyes.

“And,” Dean added, “we’re trying to not get involved in another apocalypse.” Jack grimaced at that, and Dean’s heart dropped to somewhere near his shoes, “What’s happening?”

“Well, the Empty is, a little bit, leaking.” Jack’s eyes, now stained golden, were aimed at the floor.

“The Empty is leaking?” Dean asked incredulously, and then, his voice raising an octave and a half, “The Empty is leaking!”

Jack waved his hands, almost in a surrendering manner, “Only a little bit! It’s an easy fix.” And then, as an afterthought, “I think.”

Sam, ever level-headed, asked: “Can’t you just patch the leaks? You are the most powerful being on Earth right now.”

“That is why I am here. I have to close them, and get the escaped angels and demons back in,” Jack glanced at Dean, who suddenly was entirely more interested.

“Angels are getting out?” He piped up.

Jack cocked his head to the left slightly, like a bird. “Yes, and demons. When Billie sent me to the Empty to, um, explode, I kind of made the Entity angry. I made it too loud in there, so it’s spitting out a heap of residents to lessen the noise, I guess. I came here because I know that you have some of the ingredients that I need to close the rifts,” he paused for a moment, “I would have valued your help, but if you are on a break, I—” Dean, once again, cut in.

“Oh, no, break’s done now. Right, Sammy? This sounds super important.” He was already getting up to go pack when Sam answered.

“I think I should stay here,” he cleared his throat, “I need to keep looking for Eileen.” He looked briefly at Jack, who remained unfazed.

But Dean was on a roll, energised and feeling clear-headed for the first time since—well, since Cas. “Come on, Sam,” he pleaded, “maybe we’ll find her on the way. Or! Jack, can you bring her here?” Both Dean and Sam looked at him expectantly, but Jack shook his head.

“I’m sorry, but Eileen is caught up at the moment. She has her own work to do.”

“So, she’s okay? She’s alive?” Sam stared doe-eyed down at Jack, and Jack inclined his head slightly. Sam’s shoulders slumped in relief. Dean wondered why she hadn’t returned any messages or calls but, if Jack was right and she had just been caught up in her own stuff? That was enough of an explanation for now. If Sam was happy with it, so would he be. “Okay then, I’ll come along.” He wore half a smile for the first time in ages, and Dean was satisfied.

He had the first real chance of finding Cas since defeating Chuck, and it couldn’t feel any better.

**[***]**

As it turned out, shutting the Empty rifts wasn’t all that difficult. They prepared the ingredients that Jack had requested in one of their ornate metal bowls and with a few words in Enochian, a shot of God juice (courtesy of Jack), and a fair throw into the fissure, the gateway to the Empty would simply seal shut. Folding in on itself like it was being sucked through a high-powered vacuum, and taking all the escaped angels and demons with it. At least those who hadn’t found vessels, but that would be a problem for another day. 

While Jack knew exactly where they needed to go, it wouldn’t have been especially difficult to find where the rifts were on their own. The Empty just sucked all the life and sound from the area, stagnating it. There was no wind, no birdsong, nothing. Everything was still, pressurised like the moment before your ears popped on an aeroplane before landing.

It had taken them half a day to drive to the location, and another few hours to shut the gap, so Dean booked a motel for the night. He and Sam readied their gear for the next day, and landed heavily on their respective beds as soon as they got into the room. The walls of the room were a sickly shade of orange, paired with a royal blue motif of naughts and crosses. Framed paintings hung above their headboards, both of them identical ocean-scapes. One dark, wooden bedside table sat between them, and it had a single lamp on it, already switched on. The light illuminated probably decades of undefinable stains. Dean reached into his duffel and produced his flask, taking a long swig. Sam looked at him, disapproving, but if Dean noticed, he didn’t react beyond switching off the lamp, and plunging them into darkness.

Sam seemed to get why Dean was drinking more than usual; he tended to rely on alcohol when he was grieving. And of course, he was grieving. He’d just lost his best friend, and according to him, it had been a sacrifice to save him. And Sam, having known dean practically all his life, knew that that would absolutely be eating him up inside. The self-blame and self-hatred would be tearing him apart. The only sound in the room, besides from their breathing, was dean’s sheets shifting as he drank more from his flask.

But still; it had been almost two weeks, and Dean had been drinking, more or less solidly, since Cas’ death. Not unusual per se, but definitely excessive. “Dean, is there something you’re not telling me?”

Dean snorted, “Isn't there always something I’m not telling you?” Shockingly enough, this did nothing to reassure Sam.

“Alright then, spill it. I’m sick of you drinking it all away. Please, just talk to me.” Dean remained motionless, laying on his bed. “I want to help you.”

Silence fell for a short while before Dean said, “Cas told me he’s in love with me.” And there isn't a hell of a lot that can be said after a bombshell like that. The quiet in the room got about ten times more oppressive. Dean rolled to look towards Sam. His tone was without malice, but the words cut like glass. “Is that what you wanted to hear? The only thing that could have stopped Billie from killing both of us, was if the Empty took them. And Cas had made a deal, Sammy. A stupid goddamn deal with the Empty, for Jack’s life.” His voice was hollow and raw, and it shook more and more with every word. Dean was grateful for the lack of light in the room, because he hated it when Sam saw him cry.

“What was the deal?” Sam almost didn’t want to know. He knew how much it was hurting Dean to talk about it.

Dean took a breath, steadying. “If Cas felt happiness, true happiness, he would be taken by the Empty. And his moment of true happiness,” he scrubbed a hand across his cheek, “was telling me that he loved me. He summoned the Empty, and it took him and Billie. And I did nothing, Sammy. I just stood there when he poured out his heart. I was so overwhelmed; I couldn’t even react. Then he was gone.” Another moment of silence stretched on, before Dean spoke again. His voice was quiet, as if he was speaking more to himself than Sam. “He told me he’s in love with me. What—how am I meant to deal with that? And he was too busy getting dead for me to say anything back.”

“What would you have said back? What could you have said?” Dean was quiet again, and maybe he’d have answered if Sam hadn’t kept speaking, “Did you… did you love him back?” He always tried to keep his nose out of Dean’s sexual and-slash-or romantic escapades, but, as far as he could remember, he had never taken any interest in men. Besides Dr. Sexy, but come on, that was Dr. Sexy. He didn't count on terms that he was fictional, and also flawless.

Part of the tension in the room dissipated, maybe because Dean realised that Sam really didn’t care what the answer was. Not in a dismissive way; Sam wasn’t being unsupportive, but his impression of Dean wouldn’t change depending on his answer. The conversation itself, however, made it hard for both of them to breathe.

“I don’t know. Sammy, I don’t know. I never really thought about it. Not before… all of this.” It wasn’t a complete lie; he’d definitely thought about it—him and Cas, that is—but every time the idea appeared, Dean would be quick to shoot it down. Not consciously, not really, but some part of him recognised it as foreign and uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure he was actually ready to face it. “And I've been so confused ever since.” The tension in the room continued to fade, “What do I do?”

Sam smiled into the dark room, even though he knew Dean couldn’t see him. “We get him back.” The ‘we’ wasn’t lost on Dean, and a ghost of a smile graced his face too.

**[The Next Morning]**

Sam was out and back before Dean woke up, and it was the smell of the coffee that Sam brought with him that finally roused him. With the deftness of a man who couldn’t open his eyes in fear of his skull splitting in half, Dean took one of the cardboard cups and took a deep, warming breath. “Thanks,” he mumbled. Sam huffed a laugh and glanced at the square wall clock. Quarter to seven.

Someone knocked at the motel door. Knock, knock, knock, pause, knock. “Come in, Jack.” Sam called. It was hard to think of him as a kid anymore, given what he was now. Not that he wasn’t unbelievably powerful to begin with, but things were obviously different now. A three-year-old who had recently absorbed God, and God’s sister, was knocking at their door and smiling meekly at them. This, the single most powerful creature in known existence, looked like he thought he was taking up too much space in the room.

“Hello, guys,” he said, before turning to Dean. “Can I have a word? Please.” Dean looked at Sam and raised his eyebrows. He shrugged and got up to follow Jack out of the room. They stood on the path, and Dean shuddered from the sudden chill. He stared into Jack’s face, searching for… something. Maybe Cas. He did resemble him, or at least his vessel (which was a strange thought). Kelly had wanted Cas to be Jack’s guardian. Or father. “I know where he is.” Jack said, as casual as ever.

Dean closed his eyes, pained. “Yeah, Jack. He’s in the Empty. I was there.”

“No, I know that. But I know which rift he’s at. Or closest to.” Dean lifted his eyes again, brows furrowed. “Do you want to go there now?” It felt like the ground tipped under their feet, and Dean wasn’t sure if it was the hangover, or the shock of the news. His answer should have been yes, absolutely yes, but he hesitated.

“How… how many do we have left to do?” Dean cleared his throat. Jacks eyes widened minutely, barely enough for Dean to properly register. He knew that it wasn’t really the right answer. He should want to bring Cas back as soon as possible, yet… he couldn’t.

“Two. There are two more.” Jack searched Dean’s face briefly. “Three, including Cas’ one. You want to wait?”

No. “Yeah. Yes. We should leave C—his for last, I think. He doesn’t need to fight any more.” He knew that Jack knew he was conflicted. The kid’s eyes turned sad for a moment, and Dean felt some of the blood leave his face. “How much do you know?” He asked quietly, trying to steel his face.

Jack shrugged, “I know what would have made Cas happy enough to summon the Shadow.”

“The Shadow?” It was a title Dean hadn’t heard before, “Who’s that?”

“The creature that rules the Empty. They are the only entity that we know of who is older than Chuck and Amara.” Dean still looked a bit confused, but Jack powered on anyway. “I know he loved you, if that’s what you were asking. It’s why I’m asking you what step you want to take next, getting him back is your decision.” Jack’s voice had turned taut. At Dean’s silence, he nodded once, and wandered back into the room, leaving Dean to follow awkwardly behind.

Sam glanced up when they came back in, smiling expectantly. “I have news,” Jack declared, “as I just told Dean, I know where Cas is—” 

Before he could continue, Sam asked, “Wait, how?”

“Well, Cas and I share a… profound kind of bond. We can sense each other more than anyone else.” Dean was immediately uncomfortable, but only partly because Sam was looking at him with barely contained laughter in his eyes. The echo of Cas’ voice growled in the back of Dean’s mind.

“That’s our thing,” Dean grumbled, loud enough for Sam to hear, obviously, as he almost choked on his almond milk latte. Jack continued to look at them without much expression; if he heard what Dean had said, he didn’t react.

Containing himself, Sam took a breath, “Okay, so, let’s go then.”

Jack looked at Dean, who stiffly said: “We need to close the other leaks first.” He struggled to keep his voice steady. Sam looked at him like he’d just declared himself president. He knew how he sounded, especially after their conversation last night, but this is how he felt it had to be done. Cas didn’t need to fight when he came back, that’s what he told himself, at least. Cas deserved to come back, come home, to peace in the world that he saved.

Despite his obvious confusion, Sam did not argue, and Dean was infinitely grateful for that. If anyone, particularly Sam, had questioned his decision? He might have changed his mind, for better or worse.

**[***]**

Dean tossed Sam his keys without a word. He climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door behind him with a little too much force. He leant his head against the window and crossed his arms over his chest. Even as he drove, Sam glance towards him occasionally, his eyebrows slightly furrowed in that worried way of his. “I’m fine, Sam,” Dean grunted, the spectacular liar that he is. 

“Yeah, okay. You don’t have to talk about it.” Sometimes Dean resented Sam’s empathy. Honestly, Dean resented a great deal about Sam, but it was mostly because he was envious of the way his younger brother behaved around people. A kind hand, a listening ear, something or anything that was trustworthy or reliable. Dean couldn’t see himself as any of that. Or he didn’t, not before all of those things that Cas had said to him. He reached to his left shoulder and placed his hand over the long-dried, bloody handprint that the angel had left there. One of the last things that Dean had of him. 

He had been thinking of Cas in a different light, and it kind of made him itchy. Not in a bad way, Dean didn’t think, but it was definitely something new. He didn’t really know if he could properly explain to Sam what was going on in his head. All those times throughout the years that Dean had poked fun at him for being gay, knowing full well that he wasn’t. That old, shameful part of him made him feel sick. The part that saw something that he had been taught was wrong. The part that he’d had to teach himself to grow out of. The part that he rejected in himself, all this time. “I’m sorry, Sammy,” he said.

“For what?” He sounded genuinely perplexed; his voice half an octave higher than usual. He silently cursed himself for not elaborating, but he was just so tired.

“For calling you gay when we were younger.” The guilt was audible, pitiful. He felt like the light of the morning was too bright for this. It was another conversation that should be had in the middle of the night in a dingey motel room. It felt nice to be able to talk to Sam about stuff like this, though. They’d never been particularly open with one another, and this felt like the turning of a page. The release of pent-up bullshit like the breaking of a dam.

Sam scoffed, “You haven’t in years man, it’s okay.” His tone was tight, though, despite how nonchalant he tried to play it off. Like it was a sore spot that he’d tried to tuck away.

“It’s not, and you know it. I just… I don’t know. Dad used to say that you were, and I don’t think I ever really knew what I was saying…” Dean trailed off, knowing that it was no excuse. He should’ve known. Sam didn’t answer for a moment.

“I know he did. He called me a fag the day I left.” Sam stopped again, the tension had come back, he seemed to be contemplating whether or not to say something, but Dean’s ‘what?’ hung silently in the air. He took a deep breath, and spoke, “He caught me with a guy.” 

Dean stopped breathing, “He what?”

“Dad, he caught me with a guy when I was, like, fifteen? Sixteen? I thought he told you.” Sam paused, “I don’t know. We were in Barton, Missouri, hunting some vengeful spirit. There's nothing else to it, but Dad never looked at me the same. I was even more of a disappointment than he already thought I was.” Dean was speechless. Almost.

“Why—why didn’t you… never mind. I know exactly why. And that’s why I’m sorry, Sammy. I really never was there for you when it mattered, huh.” Dean had no idea how much it took for Sam to tell him that. He wondered how long he’d wanted to, given that he knew exactly how long he’d been afraid to. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright. Now, your turn,” he backpedalled quickly, “but only if you want to, obviously, no pressure—”

Dean laughed quietly, “Thanks, but I think I owe you after that.” He hoped that whatever damage he had done could be reversed, or at the very least, forgiven. “I don’t know if I’ve ever felt like this before, so, I’m not even sure how to put it.” 

“For a dude?” Sam prompted.

“No, just… well, no. I told you about Purgatory, right?” Heat rose slowly to Dean’s face.

“Not really. Actually, you went out of your way not to.”

“Well, I'm pretty sure I told you that everything there is basically raw instinct. All I felt when I was there was ‘find Cas, find Cas, find Cas’.” And then, in a rush, he added, “Also, there was that whole thing with Benny, but that’s not really relevant right now.” Sam stayed quiet. “The point is: I’m not sure if I've ever been in love before. It’s why I’m putting off the rift that Cas is at; because I’m not even sure what I can say back.”

Sam hesitated, they could touch on the Benny thing later but, for now, “What about…” Lisa. He remembered Dean’s warning that if he ever brought them up again, he’d ‘break his face’, but maybe it was worth it.

“This isn’t the same as Lisa,” his voice was tired, not angry, and Sam felt like they were getting somewhere. “This feels like more. I feel like someone’s taken a melon baller to my chest. When Lucifer called with Cas’ voice, I didn’t even think. I didn’t want to consider that it wasn’t him.”

There was a finality to his statement. Dean had said what he needed to say, and the rest would be, had to be, saved for Cas. Sam reached over and squeezed Dean’s shoulder, taking care not to touch the handprint. Neither of them had mentioned the jacket, and Dean was glad for that. He eventually fell into another fitful sleep, absently praising himself for not drinking himself into it.

**[***]**

Someone was sobbing. 

Dean was in a huge, white room. It was filled with superficial white light, floor-to-ceiling pillars, and, most notably of all, hundreds upon hundreds of dead bodies. Every single one of them him. His blood ran cold, and the muffled echo of crying continued.

Stepping gingerly over puddles of his own blood, and scattered arms and legs, Dean made his way towards the sound. “Hey!” He called out, and the sobs stopped.

“Not another one,” Dean heard. The voice was familiar, heartbreakingly so, “please, not another one.” He’d never heard Cas sound so broken, so helpless. The angel appeared from behind one of the pillars. In his hand, a bloodied angel blade. “Oh, Dean, no. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” And then he charged. 

Dean couldn’t move his feet. He heard the fabric tear over his chest, as the blade breached it. And he felt the blade enter his heart. And he felt the pain that Cas felt, as he died, once again, in his arms. “I’m sorry,” Cas said, over and over and over. Dean’s blood rolled over the floor. 

“Hold on,” Dean mumbled, “we’re coming for you.” He tried to reach up and touch his face, but there was no strength left. He closed his eyes and—

**[***]**

Gasping for air, Dean sat up in the passenger seat of the Impala. His face was wet, and he was covered in goosebumps. Cold and sweaty. He reached for the seatbelt buckle with shaking hands and unlatched it before opening the door. He sat sideways in the seat, elbows on knees, and tried to decide whether or not he needed to throw up.

He stared out into the trees and tried to gain a baring on where he was. Gravel crunched under his feet. There were no sounds coming from the dense woods around the car. Sam had parked them in the lot of a small diner, and it must have been conveniently close to where they needed to be. 

Sam had arrived at some stage and was looking down at Dean, deep creases in his brow. “You good, man?” he asked, passing his brother a white paper bag and a couple of napkins. Dean took the bag and absently glanced at his watch. It was early afternoon.

Dean grabbed the bacon cheeseburger from the bag and smiled up at Sam, “I am now,” he groaned, before taking a huge bite. Mustard and oil dripped down the side of his mouth, but it was beyond clear that he didn’t care. And, truth be told, Dean would probably sooner use the burger itself to mop up the mess than one of those napkins. It’s wasteful, he’d told Sam before.

“We’re close,” came Jack’s voice. The kid had appeared out of nowhere. He tended to move in the same frightening and unpredictable manner that Cas and the other angels did before they lost their wings, and Dean had almost forgotten how much he had hated that, how the angels could pop in and pop out whenever they pleased. As much as he hated to say it, and as guilty as he felt to be part of the reason that it happened, it was a relief when they lost that ability.

They both jumped, startled, and Jack looked at them apologetically. “Sorry,” he said, and then, “are you ready?”

And they were, once Dean was finished eating. They grabbed the supplies from the trunk and headed out into the woods. It was an even quicker ordeal this time, with none of the guess-work that they had to put in last time. And, with plenty of time left in the day, they figured it would be possible to reach the next rift by morning.

“We’ll meet you there, then?” Sam inquired to Jack, who was entirely too powerful to seem so unsure.

“I was thinking that, maybe, I could ride in the back with you guys?” His golden eyes flicked between Sam and Dean, “Like old times.” 

Sam looked at Dean, and he shrugged, “Like old times, then.” Dean declared, and he took his keys back from Sam. Jack’s shoulders rose like he hadn’t expected to be allowed on the road trip. It was hard to remember sometimes that he was basically still a toddler. An impossible, omnipotent toddler. As powerful as he was, he still searched for approval from the people he looked up to.

What a life they lived, to be looked up to by God (Mach. II). In any case, the kid looked tired. The spell they used to close the rift required a charge of God power to work, so Jack was understandably drained. Dean wasn’t even sure if Jack could sleep. He knew that, before, he didn’t need a lot of sleep to function. But that was when he was a Nephilim. Now? Not so sure.

As it turned out: he could. And as soon as he got settled in the back seat, he was out like a light. “Jack?” Dean prompted, hushed. Jack’s only response was a heavy sigh. Dean looked briefly at Sam, who was watching the kid with a fond, protective gaze. “How’s it going, uncle Sam?” With a soft chuckle, Sam turned back around.

“I kind of wish he’d just zap us there, you know? It would be so much quicker.” Dean couldn’t dispute, it was true. But he needed more time. A little bit longer to piece together the mess that was his feelings. It was like there was a pane of glass holding back all the baggage that he’d accumulated over so many years. A tiny, furious version of himself screaming and bashing at the barrier. And the glass was beginning to splinter. And, he thought as he pulled out of the little parking lot, it was only a matter of time before everything came crashing down.

“Yeah, but he’s buggered, Sam. Besides, you know I like to drive.” Sam shrugged at that, and turned his attention back to the road. The sun was on its way down to the horizon, not quite sunset. 

Dean wished that he hadn’t ruined his relationship with Jack. The way he dismissed him from the family—it wasn’t fair. The poor kid should never have had to hear that. Dean should never had said it to begin with. He’d apologised, sure, but it wasn’t really enough. Absently, Dean checked on him in the rear-view mirror. 

The next couple of hours passed in relative silence, save for the rumble of the Impala and the low volume playing of Dean’s old Sabbath cassettes. He wondered why Jack hadn’t just pulled Cas out of the Empty himself, given how simple it seemed to be to bring back everyone on Earth. Once again, both Sam and Dean jumped at Jack’s sudden input.

“I have tried,” He said, “The Empty is not as straight-forward as resurrecting humans.” Because that, apparently, was a park-walk. 

“I’ve been trying to contact Eileen,” Sam interrupted, “are you sure she’s okay?” Dean eyed him, concerned. He looked in the rear-view mirror and saw Jack lift his head to Sam. He smiled in that weird, barely human way that he did.

“I promise, Sam, Eileen is just fine. We’re on our way to her now.” Sam’s face morphed into surprise.

“She’s not in the Empty, is she? She can’t be…” Sam trailed off. Dean’s heart broke at the desperation in his voice. He was starting to see just how similar he was to his younger brother. 

“No,” Jack’s voice was apologetic, “I should have clarified sooner; she is trying to keep the escaped angels and demons in check.” He paused for a beat, before adding, “I’m keeping an eye on her, please don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to her.” Jack closed his eyes again, and settled back into his seat.

Sam was visibly relieved. He tucked his phone under his leg and faced forward, letting his shoulders slump a little. “I just wish she’d text back,” he mumbled, and then straightened, his eyes wide, “oh, no. I took her phone when we found her things. When Chuck wiped everyone out.” Sam’s head fell back against the headrest, “I’m an idiot; I didn’t even think about that.”

“Nah, man. It’s been a tough couple of weeks,” Dean tried to comfort him, but his head was somewhere else. They allowed quiet to fall again. Dean didn’t understand why Jack would offer to send them straight towards Cas, when it would have been infinitely easier to just get to Eileen first. As much as Cas was Jack’s dad (three years in and it was still a weird thought), and there was a sentimental desire there, the kid was also smart. He would know that the best play would be to have Eileen on side as early as possible.

Then again… he knew. Dean checked the mirror again, and he could have sworn that there was a ghost of a smirk on Jack’s face. “I think I might be bi.” The words were out of Dean’s mouth before he even decided to say them. The realisation was loud in the hush of dusk.

Sam didn’t respond for a beat. “Um, great,” he cleared his throat, “are you good with that?”

“I think—I don’t know. Yeah. Are you good with that?” Sam laughed, soft and breathy.

“Yeah, obviously. Same, maybe.”

“Maybe?”

He shrugged again. “Yeah, maybe. I dunno, man, I’m just me. Never really felt the need to put a name on it.” Dean considered that for a minute. Sam had his eyes glued to the road ahead, and Dean was grateful for that.

That little him had landed a hard blow against the glass, and a new splinter appeared. Dean decided that it might be better not to fight it. It was about time he let himself just… be him.

**[***]**

“It’s in there,” Jack said, leaning in between the driver and passenger seats to point at what might have made Dean’s top ten list of creepiest churches he had ever seen. And he’d seen thousands. It had two tall rectangular towers that reached roughly twice the height of the actual building, only one of them still held a bell. The cross that should have been perched atop the centre gable was laying broken on the front steps. There were the cast iron remnants of what was once undoubtedly beautiful stained glass right above the thick, wide oak doors. Vines crawled up the sides of the building, and they vanished into a gaping, burned away gap in the roof.

The sun had only just risen, and the pale dawn light cast eerie shadows over everything. A streetlight flickered a little way down the road.

Sam, who seemed just as excited about going in there as Dean did, asked: “Are you sure this is the place?” knowing full well that the answer was going to be yes. Dean pulled up and climbed out of the car. He shuddered at the still silence around him. 

“Alright, then. Let’s get this over with,” Dean hoisted his duffel over his shoulder and scuffed the toe of his boot over the footpath. Part of the concrete fell away. Sam pulled open one of the doors, gun raised. 

Before they could take more than three steps into the old church, Sam’s gun was smacked out of his hand. A distinctly feminine yell accompanying the blow. Jack grabbed the back of Dean’s jacket to hold him back. “What the hell—” Sam was thrown to the ground by, “Eileen?” 

“Sam?” She was straddling his waist, her knees either side of his hips and an angel blade to his throat. A blade that she quickly tossed aside, instead grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him up for an Earth-shattering kiss. 

Dean scowled in mock disgust. “Ugh, dude, find your own abandoned church.” Sam laughed against Eileen’s lips and pulled away. 

“I missed you,” Sam signed and spoke at the same time, “are you okay?” And Eileen nodded, a sweet smile on her face. She stood up and reached a hand down for Sam. He took it and she pulled him to his feet.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she placed her free hand on Sam’s cheek briefly before turning to Jack and Dean, “are you guys okay?” 

Dean shook Jack off his collar and stepped forward, enveloping Eileen in a hug. He’d forgotten how much he liked having her around. She wrapped the arm that wasn’t being held by Sam around his back. When he pulled back, he said, “We’re doing good,” and then, with a playful wink, he added, “better now, though.” And she laughed and slapped Dean’s shoulder affectionately. There was something sceptical in her eyes, as if she knew there was more to it. 

“Well,” Eileen said, her hands forming the words alongside her mouth, “the rift is up in the attic.” She pointed to a decrepit staircase, frowning. The stairs were perfectly illuminated by the hole in the roof. They all approached it carefully, avoiding burnt-out gaps in the floor and piles of construction debris. It sure would be a shame if they’d gotten this far, only for one of them to fall into (just as an example) an exposed length of rebar and die. A shame, indeed.

The staircase, while looking like it wouldn’t hold Jack’s weight let alone Sam or Dean’s, stayed surprisingly steady the whole way up. It groaned in places, and occasionally splinters of the rotting wood crumbled away but, all things considered, it could have gone a hell of a lot worse. 

Eileen helped them measure up the ingredients for the spell. It was easier again, this time, as Eileen had already taken care of all the escaped angels and demons. It wasn’t a very big rift, so not many things got out through it but, as Eileen had told them, the ones who’d gotten out had wreaked a bit of havoc in a nearby housing estate. Nothing she couldn’t deal with, of course, and it certainly helped to not have them hovering around as the spell was constructed.

Sam handed the bowl to Eileen so that she could toss it into the rift, but the sound of someone clearing their throat caused Sam to take hold of her wrist to stop her. Eileen followed the eyelines of the others to see a tiny blonde woman, who had perched herself on a chest of drawers to the right of the rift. Her feet swung comically.

“Meg?” Dean questioned, and turned to Sam in surprise.

“No, that’s the Empty.” He responded, instinctually pulling Eileen back a couple of steps.

The creature that wore Meg’s face tutted, “So close, Sammy Boy. I’m the Shadow. But, since we’re such good pals, you guys can just call me Shadow.” They hopped down off the chest, and scowled briefly. “I like this body, I really do,” Shadow started, addressing everyone as if they were already in the middle of a conversation, “but I really wish she wasn’t only five-foot-three.” They looked directly at Sam, “You feel?”

“What do you want?” Dean growled, eyes hard and flat. Gaze sharp as glass. He stared Shadow down, and maybe they would’ve been intimidated if they weren’t an entity that had been around since the beginning of time.

Shadow spread their hands, empty palms skyward. “Nothing. Only to thank you for shutting the tears.” Four sets of disbelieving eyes narrowed in Shadow’s direction, and they laughed, “Truly, you guys are doing me a huge solid,” they said.

Jack spoke up, his voice hesitant. “Why? You are throwing them out, why would you thank us for shutting the gaps and sending them back in?”

“Because, Kiddo,” Shadow smirked, “I’m not.”

“Aren't you trying to make it quiet in there again?” Sam pointed at the pulsating rift in front of them.

Shadow rolled their eyes, “Yeah, obviously, but I want the residents to just go back to sleep. They have to stay in there; it’s the way things should be.” They aimed the last bit at Dean, who fought hard to school his features into nonchalance. “I don’t know why the Empty’s burst, and I appreciate your help. That’s all,” they bowed theatrically, one hand behind their back and the other outstretched in front of them, “see ya, folks.”

“Wait,” Jack chirped right before Shadow could take the step back into the Empty, “I can make it quiet in there again.”

Silence fell for a beat, all eyes on Jack. “Really?” Shadow sounded sceptical.

“Yes. I know you are upset with me for waking everyone up, and—” They cut him off.

“No. I’m not angry with you. Not anymore. Billie’s the one who sent you in there to detonate. It’s their fault.” Shadow’s eyes were stormy with resentment.

Jack cleared his throat. “Okay, well, I am glad that is settled. Anyway, I will put everyone to sleep—” It was Dean who jumped in this time. 

“Only if you bring Cas back.” Jack turned and glared at him over his shoulder, clearly sick of being interrupted. Dean just levelled his gaze, refusing to back down.

Shadow raised their index finger to their chin, tapping once, twice. “You drive a hard bargain, Winchesters.” A smile graced their mouth, but apprehension creased their brow. “I’ll consider it.” They slipped into the rift before anyone could protest.

Sam signed for Eileen to throw the bowl into the rift, and they all watched it vanish in a shocked hush. There was always something to fight, and Dean had thought that this time it would be the Empty, Shadow, whatever. He was starting to think that this enemy wasn’t so simple to defeat. That this monster that he had to combat was a hell of a lot closer to home.

Dean was terrified.

**[***]**

Shadow relaxed their form as soon as the rift shut, returning to the shapeless inky goo of the Empty. They could feel the last fissure like a raw wound. Feel it bleeding silence and power, and the not-souls of slain angels and demons. The Empty was a vacuum with a single puncture, and millennia worth of dust was escaping. Shadow warped as they moved, clinging to the shifting structure of the Empty, toward that pesky angel. Castiel.

When Shadow reached him, they stilled, observing quietly. They could feel dark waves of regret and guilt rolling off him. Distantly, they questioned whether it really was worth letting him go. A question that was just as swiftly discarded, upon focusing on the cacophonous white noise that burned their senses. One angel was not worth staying awake forever. 

Re-taking the shape of that little blonde demon, Shadow leaned down and took Castiel’s face in their hand. “Wakey-wakey, Clarence,” they murmured, and Castiel’s bright blue eyes snapped open. 

“No!” He gasped, scrambling back a few paces, and then, “Meg?” 

Shadow smiled tightly, attempting to stifle their annoyance. “No, I’m—”

“The Shadow. Right. I remember.” He wiped the sleeve of that gross old trench coat over his face, “Why’d you wake me up?” He asked.

The smile on Shadow’s face grew more genuine, “Because,” they rose, standing to look down on the dishevelled angel, “your Winchesters have offered me a bit of a deal. The elder one seemed particularly invested in your return,” they added, for no particular reason.

Castiel’s face clouded, eyebrows furrowing low, “No,” he whispered, “whatever they’ve promised, they’ll find a way out of it. They always do.” 

And suddenly Shadow didn’t feel so smug. “They’d better not. I’m sick of being screwed with.” Castiel looked back up at that, a question hanging on his features. “Your boy said he can make it quiet in here. I just want to go back to sleep.”

He cleared his throat quietly. “Billie really did a number on you, didn’t they?” It wasn’t really a question, and Shadow could only hum in response. “If Jack promised you peace, you’ll get your peace. I just thought that maybe one of them had offered to take my place.”

Shadow shook their head. “I know how formidable the Winchesters are. Probably a third of the residents here are their doing. And yours.” They paused, considering. It was a whole different ball game now; God was their kid. The last thing that Shadow wanted was those lumbering hunters to be chasing them down. “I do not want to be on their bad side. Not any more than I already am.”

“So, you’re letting me go? What if…” Castiel was torn, evidently, “what if I say no?”

They raised an eyebrow, “No?” Their tone was incredulous, “You’d stay here instead of going back to your family?” 

Castiel winced. “I said some things before you took me. Things that—”

“I know what you said, Castiel; I was there. You are the deal. You for my peace.” He averted his eyes, and Shadow crouched down again, gripping the angel’s chin to make him face them again. “I am not your enemy here, but if you jeopardise this deal? I can be.” There wasn’t any venom in their threat, instead it was raw and desperate. “Please, Castiel.”

“How can I face him?”

“Honestly, Clarence? I don’t ca—” He cut them off.

“Stop calling me that. You’re not Meg.” His tone was taut and hostile, deeply frustrated. Shadow released his face and stood abruptly. Clapping their hands together excitedly, they changed shape again. A plain looking man, complete with a sweater-vest, chinos and boat shoes. A vessel of some nondescript demon or angel at some point. “Am I supposed to recognise you?” Castiel asked, nervous and relieved. Shadow had forgotten that the angel had known little Meg.

“No,” they said, the joy of a plan spiking their words, “but you’ve just given me the perfect idea.”

**[***]**

Dean was in a rush, now, and his companions knew it. His heart pounded roughly in his chest as he slung the duffel bag over his shoulder, and descended the old church’s stairs with a lack of delicacy that could have spelled disaster. Distractedly, he knew it was rude to leave the others alone up there, but he needed air. Air, and to get to the car as fast as possible.

He dumped the duffle in the trunk and, upon closing it, leaned heavily on the lid. Despite himself, he laughed. The spark of hope that Jack and Shadow had given him was more potent than anything he’d experienced in an obscenely long time. Dean heard the church doors close and glanced up, breaking himself from his reverie. He watched Sam say something to Jack, who nodded and made a beeline for the front passenger seat. Dean followed suit, making his way to the driver’s.

Eileen and Sam climbed into the back, signing to each other. Dean smiled to himself, glad that she was back, and glad that Sam wasn’t worried for her anymore. But, he realised, now that just left him. He looked to his right, to find Jack’s eyes already on him. Dean raised an eyebrow in question.

“It will work out, Dean,” he said, and he sounded so damn sure that Dean couldn’t help but to believe him just a bit. He nodded and patted the kid on the shoulder, before starting up the car and pulling out into the quiet morning.

Sam’s head popped through the gap between their seats. “Hey, Eileen’s hungry. Do you think we can stop at a diner somewhere?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Dean said, trying to sound as genuine as possible despite wanting more than anything to keep moving, “breakfast is the most important meal.”

With a quick, affectionate slap to Dean’s arm, Sam said, “thanks, man,” and returned to his silent conversation with Eileen. In all fairness, Dean was hungry, too, so a stop to get breakfast wouldn’t go completely amiss. He took the first exit they came across and headed to the nearest town.

The little diner they found was only just opening, which made sense at eight in the morning on a Saturday. Still, the staff were friendly, and the food was greasy, and while Dean was too pent up to have much of an appetite, he managed to down half a burger.

Sam took his time with his fries. “So,” he started, taking a sizable bite out of one, “what's the plan for this one?” 

Dean shrugged, “The same, I guess. Jack will need to put the Empty back to sleep, so he should be the one to throw the bowl. Me and him will be up front; you two,” he gestured to Eileen and Sam, “can stay back.” Eileen nodded her approval, but Sam looked dubious. 

“What if,” he argued, “Shadow turns the deal around on us?”

Smiling wryly, Dean said, “We defeated God. If Shadow is smart, they’ll give m—us Cas.” Truth was, Dean didn’t know what he'd do if they didn’t. He didn’t know how long he could go on mourning like a widower, until that frayed old thread in him finally snapped. There was only so much hope he could hold on to, but, until then, he would go to the ends of the Earth to get his angel back.

Sam didn’t look completely convinced, but he nodded anyway. Out of anybody, he should know how desperate Dean was to get Cas back. Freedom was only a few steps ahead of them, and they were gaining fast.

They finished up their meals and headed back to the car. Dean’s hands shook as he gripped the wheel, and he wasn’t sure if it was anticipation or apprehension. “Towards Illinois,” Jack said, his brows furrowed in concentration. 

It was a few hours’ worth of driving, in that case, and Dean was okay with that. Maybe, he thought, he could hammer out the rest of his sexuality crisis in that time. With a sigh, he decided that it probably wouldn’t be that easy, but there was no harm in trying. These past couple of weeks had run an absolute riot on almost every conception he had about himself, and if he’d had a moment to himself over the past few days, he’d have lost it completely. As much as Sam’s constant presence was slightly grating, he was a grounding figure in Dean’s life, and he wouldn’t trade that for the world.

Deep in thought, the time passed quickly, and a ‘Welcome to Illinois’ sign seared itself into Dean’s eyes. His mind buzzed with déjà vu. Obviously, he'd been to Illinois dozens of times, and that sign was understandably familiar, but he felt like there was something more to it this time. Jack glanced at him nervously, “Are you okay?” He asked, hushed.

“Fine. I'm fine,” Dean responded, trying to relax the white-knuckle grip on his steering wheel. “I need to pull over. Have a look at a map.” 

Jack protested as Dean turned off the road. “Woah, wait. I know where we’re going; we don’t need a map.”

“Yeah, I know. I think I might know where we’re heading too.” Dean’s gut was heavy, realisation settling deep. He thew the car in park, and reached across Jack into the glove box to grab a large map. It was worn and tearing in the places it was folded, and the edges were yellow. Brown patches that could have been coffee stains marked the old paper. Sam leaned over the seat again.

“What are you looking for?” He asked.

Dean pointed at Pontiac, “Is that where we’re going?” He looked up as Jack, who looked a bit concerned.

“Is it that way?” He pointed a little to the left of where the car was facing, and Dean nodded.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, “yeah, it is.” Pontiac wasn’t much more than an hour away. Less, if he really tried. Pulling away from the curb, Dean floored the gas.

**[***]**

“How about I sweeten the pot, hm?” Shadow crooned, fashioning a throne out of the Empty’s goo and lounging in it. 

Cas frowned; he wasn’t sure who the pot would be sweetened for. He hoped Dean and Sam, but Shadow was unpredictable. “What do you mean?” He questioned; voice nervous.

“Do you know how many of your friends are in here? Their friends?” Oh, no. “How about,” they tapped their chin, pretending to ponder the thought, “I throw in four. Five, including you.”

“Shadow, no—” They held up a finger, effectively cutting Cas off.

“I'm thinking the Demon King. Crowley. I guess he won’t be real chuffed now that his mother has taken his throne,” Shadow laughed, but there wasn’t all that much humour in it, “but I bet he’d love to be alive again.” 

Cas’ heart sank. “What’s your angle?”

Anger flared; white hot. So powerful that it almost knocked Cas off his feet. “Because I want you gone!” Shadow took a breath, collecting themself. “I need you gone, so that Jack can put everyone back to sleep. Including me. If giving you this ultimatum gets you out of here? I have to. If I don’t give you a reason to get out apart from your family, which obviously isn’t enough for you, you won’t leave.”

Cas averted his eyes, shameful. It wasn’t that they weren’t enough for him, he just regretted so much. He didn’t want to see the critical look in Dean’s eyes. A big, cowardly part of him really believed that staying in eternal torture would be the easier option than just facing the man’s reaction.

Shadow snapped their fingers, and the rift appeared right by them both. Through it, Cas could see that they were indoors, but the light still seared his eyes. The old spray paint had been graffitied over, but he could still make out the familiar sigils that coated the walls. Cas’ stomach squeezed. “Who else?” He demanded, “Hurry up and sweeten, Shadow.”

When they smiled this time, instead of calculated malice, it shone with hope.

**[***]**

Dean was right. He knew he had been; he'd felt it in his bones. But as he stood staring at the old, abandoned barn, he felt no satisfaction. Sam approached him, hand in hand with Eileen. “What is this place?” He asked. Right, Dean thought, he hadn’t been there when he and Cas had first met.

“This is where we summoned Cas. Me and Bobby.” Dean’s voice sounded distant to his own ears, as if though glass. He stepped forward and wrenched the barn door open. The rift moved at the back end of the barn. Angel grace and demon smoke swirled around it, clashing in grey and white puffs. Like crows and doves. 

It didn’t fit that there was no sound to it, like it should have been loud. Roaring with power and hostility but, instead, it was silent. Silent, until Shadow stepped through, their pristine boat shoes crunching on the ancient hay. Dean recoiled at their new look. “Not feeling Meg anymore?” He asked impulsively.

Shadow laughed, which surprised Dean. “Nah. Besides, it was making your angel uncomfortable.” Jack walked in with the spell bowl, followed by Sam and Eileen, who stayed by the doors. Dean fought to keep his face clear of expression. “Listen,” Shadow said, voice low and serious. They took another step towards Dean, “I don’t want to make an enemy out of you guys. I’m really trying to be reasonable. Nice, even.”

Dean took half a step back. “Okay? Great. Can you give me Cas now?”

“I want to. Really, I do,” Shadow fanned their hands out, trying to display innocence, “but you’re going to have to get him.”

Jack piped up, taking the words right out of Dean’s mouth. “No, that wasn’t the deal—” Shadow cut him off sharply.

“Hey! It’s not my fault, okay? He wants to stay in there. He told me that there's something,” they looked pointedly at Dean, “that he doesn’t want to face. I cannot force someone out of the Empty; they have to be willing.” Shadow slipped back into the rift before anyone could even think to respond. Dean wanted to throw something.

He attempted to shrug off the thought that Cas would prefer to spend the rest of eternity re-living his biggest regrets rather than face those things he said. Fuck that, he thought, and took one huge step towards the rift. Cas was coming home, even if Dean had to drag him out by his halo.

Jack grabbed his arm before he could get too close, and Dean flinched. There was so much power in him now. It was so similar to the power that Dean could feel when he had stood to close to Chuck, and the idea of that just made his skin itch. 

“You don’t need to go in,” Jack said, and relief settled his heart for a moment, “just pray. Cas will always, always, hear you.” The kid released his arm and stood with Sam and Eileen at the door.

So Dean did.

“Cas,” he started, voice quiet. He stood awkwardly just a few feet from the mouth of the rift. “I don’t have anything really profound to say. Not like you did. I need you to know some things, though. First; we won. Cas, we won. Chuck’s gone. We’re free, now.

“Second; I didn’t kill him. He wanted me to, and I wanted to, but he ruined it. He said it would be glorious to be killed by me, the ‘ultimate killer’. But you said that’s not who I am. I mean, you're not the first, but you're the first that I've actually believed. Because you know me better than anyone. From day one, when you were putting me back together in hell, you knew me better than anyone ever could.  
“Third; I have got no goddamn idea how you—the one who knows me better than I know myself—could think for a second that you couldn’t have me, because… well, I'm going to need to tell you to your face, aren’t I?” At some point, Dean had fallen to his knees, his eyes closed. His face was wet with tears, and he wouldn’t dare look at his companions. “Remember that angel? Esther? Hester? I think that was her name. Anyway, she said that the moment you laid a hand on me in hell, you were lost. I don’t know why, but that always stuck with me. I think it might be because… maybe I got lost with you.”

A hand touched his face. Warm, calloused.

Familiar.

Dean almost couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. But he does. And its him. His angel. He released a breath, and it’s long and shaky, and filled with relief and desperation and longing.

“Cas.”

Dean rose and wrapped his arms so tight around him, crushing that old, dirty trench coat between them. “Hello, Dean.” Cas said, his rough voice soothed Dean like nothing he had ever experienced. They pulled away after a few long moments, and stared into each other’s eyes for a few longer moments. Dean leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Cas’.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again, you stupid son of a bitch.” And the kiss that Dean pressed to Cas’ lips was as bright and sharp as the sparks that flew the day they’d seen each other in that very barn. Soon, they remembered their audience and parted. “I love you, too, dumbass.”

Cas smiled so sweetly, but his eyes remained troubled. “But… I was so sure it was impossible.”

Dean laughed, still a little out of breath. “What? Do you want me to say it again? Maybe in Spanish?” At that, Cas laughed a little too.

There was a short burst of applause from Sam and Eileen, both of them had tears in their eyes, so Dean decided not to be insulted by it. Still, he cleared his throat and stepped away, suddenly shy. “Let’s shut the Empty. For good, this time.” Cas reached for his hand, and Dean let him take it.

“Wait,” Jack said, “I have a bargain to uphold.” He stepped up to the rift and outstretched his hand. “Sleep,” he said, his golden eyes burned like candles. All the not-souls that swarmed the outside of the rift were sucked back in. Shadow’s face popped out of the rift; relief was plastered so clearly on all of their features.

“Cheers,” they said, and vanished again. Dean wouldn’t miss them. Jack tossed the bowl into the rift and it shut in the same way all the others had. 

They spend a minute just standing there, looking at each other. There's peace, finally.

Or, there would have been, had Gabriel not appeared out of nowhere and crashed to the floor of the barn, unconscious, followed by Crowley, and then Balthazar, and finally Meg. They landed in a divine and demonic pile right where the rift had been. 

Dean supposed that that might as well happen.

Birds started chirping again.

**[***]**

The sand felt good, between his toes, and Dean didn’t think that he’d ever seen the sky so blue.

He’d unfolded a brand-new beach chair, and it was quickly becoming his favourite seat. He stared into the ocean and smiled lazily at Sam and Eileen splash each other in the surf. The highlight, really, was Cas’ fingers intertwined with his as the angel sat on a similar fold-out beside him.

Everything seemed to have settled, now. Dean no longer felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, just waiting for a gust of wind to topple him off. Instead, he felt grounded. He figured that’s why he questioned being free before; he hadn’t found what really made him happy.

Dean looked as Cas. His grace was fading. Jack said that he could bring it back, but Cas decided that he was ready to just let it go. He squeezed the hand in his, and Cas squeezed back, meeting Dean’s eyes and smiling, all crinkly.

They all got to the beach early, but they were expecting company soon. Jody and Donna were bringing Alex, Claire and Kaia. Jody said she’d drag Bobby along too, and with the promise of beer, he just might make it. Charlie and Stevie were supposed to come as well, but Charlie had never been too fond of the beach.

There was a loosely wooded area behind them, part of a national park, and Jack had found himself a boulder to perch on. He sat, cross-legged, just watching everyone enjoy themselves. Dean thought that maybe the kid wouldn’t do such a bad job. He hoped he decided to stick around for a bit longer, just so he could exist as a person for a while. But, ultimately, that was up to him.

If this is what freedom was; finding peace among friends, and family? Finding home amongst each other? Dean thought that he could maybe get used to it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :))


End file.
